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Thelma Wells begins each day with the same prayer: "Lord, open the doors I need to walk through today. Close the doors I don't. Get people out of my way I don't need to talk to today. And put people in my way I do. Lord, don't let me waste time."

On February 24, 2000, in Ghana, West Africa, Thelma, 58, added to her usual morning prayer: "Today, Lord, is your day to shine through me. Please give me the words to say. Protect all of us from all forms of sickness, hurt, harm, and danger. Father, in the name of Jesus I deny witchcraft, superstition, animism, and all forms of other gods and demon worship. I plead the blood of Jesus the Christ, the name that is above all other names, to cover us today."

Thelma, an author and speaker with her own ministry and Women of Faith (WOF), accompanied by WOF teammates Luci Swindoll and Mary Graham, WOF founder Steve Arterburn, her oldest daughter Vikki, and their World Vision hosts, was going to Atebubu, a village where three Ghanian families awaited their arrival. Arranged by World Vision, this meeting would launch a new adoption program—instead of adopting one child, a whole family could be adopted, which is what Thelma, Luci, and Mary were there to do.

Thelma familiarized herself with her family's profile. Charles and Abena Addo are hardworking, well-educated parents of three children—Gabriel, 12, Kate, 6, and Elizabeth, 18 months. In 1989, Charles's eyesight began to deteriorate from the first stages of glaucoma and cataracts. For the next seven years, Charles successfully managed a 4.5-acre plot of yams and a 4-acre vegetable garden of peppers, ochre, and eggplant. His rotating harvests brought in 200,000 cedis (approximately $650) per season, enough to pay expenses and provide for his family. But his sight continued to fail. Finally last year, ten days before Christmas, Charles went completely blind.

It didn't surprise most villagers. Charles and his family are Christians living in a village of fetish worshipers who perform animal sacrifices in a ceremonial shack behind their house. In fact, Charles's father is the fetish priest. Murmurs of "hex" and "curse" float through Atebubu.

Yet Charles and his family cling to their faith. "As long as the Lord tarries, I have hope," he says. "Even if I'm not healed before he returns, I will be healed when I see him."

Why is this familiar?
From 1:40 to 4:20 p. m. in Atebubu, the Western visitors participated in "durbar"—a ceremony to officially welcome them. If they passed "inspection," they could mingle with the villagers. With the chiefs assembled, the hours were filled with introductions, music, speeches, the exchange of gifts (personalized stoles and traditional dress), and dancing. Though she had never been to Africa before, a memory flashed through Thelma's mind when she saw the straw and sand huts with their dirt floors.

She was a child again in South Dallas in the 1950s, spending a night in a tent on a visit to her mother and younger sister Sarah. It wasn't a vacation campout; this was her mother's home. Thelma couldn't sleep; everything felt gritty and dirty. Even though she loved her mother and sister, she wanted to be back in the apartment with her great-grandparents who were raising her.

Years before, Thelma's mother, Dorothy Morris, shunned by her mother because of her darker skin and partial paralysis, had asked her grandparents to care for two-year-old Thelma, who like herself was battling a respiratory illness. She never took her back.

Yet Grannie Sarah Harrell curbed any bitterness in Thelma. "Your mother didn't give you away," she explained. "She just let me keep you for a little while." Thelma would see her mother at family gatherings, but the bond between them was more like sisters than a mother and daughter.

Grannie and Daddy Harrell were God-loving, praying models for Thelma. St. John Missionary Baptist Church (Thelma's church to this day) became a second home; on Sundays, you packed a lunch for a day of services—with socializing in between. Thelma especially loved the singing.

Those songs comforted her when she visited "Mother Dot," her mother's mother. Mother Dot resented Thelma's illegitimacy and dark skin. Repeating her cruel treatment of her own daughter, Mother Dot kept her five-year-old granddaughter in a closet so she wouldn't have to look at her. Thelma accepted her grandmother's explanation: she'd be safe from the hot iron that Mother Dot used in her work as a domestic. In the dark stinky closet, Thelma sang herself to sleep with the songs she learned in church.

I bring you good news
In Atebubu, the durbar ended successfully and the guests found their respective families. Thelma and Vikki visited and prayed with Charles, his wife, and children through their World Vision interpreter Cecilia Anderson.

As they were leaving, Cecilia asked Thelma if she would like to meet Charles's father. Though unprepared, she graciously agreed. The three women headed to the village shrine. Thelma prayed for God's protection in the few minutes before they arrived.

"There was something dead on the ground, but all I saw was blood everywhere," Thelma says.

With Cecilia at her side, Thelma introduced herself. "I'm Thelma Wells from the United States of America visiting with World Vision, and I honor you as the father of Charles and as priest of this village." The formalities out of the way, the Holy Spirit took over.

"I come bringing good news," Thelma began, facing the fetish priest a few feet away, "because I come in the name of Jehovah, the Creator, the Savior Jesus Christ." Out of the corner of her eye, Thelma noticed Cecilia trembling.

"You don't have to sacrifice the blood of animals anymore. The perfect sacrifice has already been made in the person of Jesus Christ, the paschal lamb. The thorns that were put on Jesus' brow—the blood from those thorns was shed for you. The nails driven in Jesus' hands—the blood from those nails was dripped for you. The spikes in Jesus' feet—the blood from those spikes was meant for you."

A small crowd had gathered on both sides, including Mary Graham. Concerned that Thelma was innocently violating a cultural moré, she whispered to the World Vision staff member next to her, "Can she do that?"

With tears in his eyes, he replied, "Yes. Yes. This is very wonderful. It's the first time the gospel has come to this village; it's perfect coming from Thelma since she's black."

The fetish priest didn't move or respond. He just listened.

"What do you want most in life?" Thelma asked.

"Peace."

"You can have peace today," Thelma reassured him. "But you can't have peace outside of Jesus Christ. The peace that your son and his wife have—they have the peace you're searching for."

Thelma again looked at Cecilia, whose voice quavered. "Are you telling him exactly what I'm saying?"

Nervously, Cecilia nodded.

Thelma closed with a final question. "If you don't accept Jesus as your Savior now, will you promise me you'll do it when Charles gets his sight back?"

The priest, with a clever look, made the sign of the cross. After thanking him, Thelma heard singing. Under the village's so-called "evil tree," Luci Swindoll was teaching the village children "Jesus Loves Me."

That night Thelma and the World Vision staff talked about Charles and what it would take to restore his sight. In the months ahead, plans for medical help are being investigated. Thelma's prayers are for healing for Charles and salvation for his father and the entire village.

A graceful connection
Thelma grew up in Dallas little concerned that her ancestors came from Africa. She considered herself an American and a Texan. Even experiences of racial segregation didn't keep her down for long. God seemed to use any incidents for his—and Thelma's—good.

Before leaving Africa, the WOF/World Vision itinerary included a stop at Cape Coast, Ghana. An old castle, Elmena, had been converted into a slave prison in the 1800s—a major port for slaves being shipped to America.

As Thelma approached the building, some little boys ran up to her saying, "Hello, mummy. How are you, mummy? Welcome home."

This isn't my home, Thelma thought.

During the tour, especially in the female slave quarters, Thelma says the walls talked to her—she could hear the long-ago cries of the suffering. When the tour guide described the atrocities, he said something that stuck in Thelma's mind: "The African slaves were survivors."

Standing by one of the slave pits, seven generations of family names whirred through Thelma's mind. My great-great-grandmother Molly was born two years after slavery ended. That means that her momma or daddy or both, or her grandparents could have been here. Suddenly the tears came. I am connected to this place.

Luci Swindoll asked the tour guide if any white man had objected to the cruelty.

"Only one. John Newton."

Walking with Thelma down to the courtyard of Elmena, Steve Arterburn says that "Thelma began to sing 'Amazing Grace' [written by John Newton] as beautifully as I have ever heard it sung. It was the only time during the trip I saw her down or depressed, but even then she turned the moment into a time of praising God."

Bee-ing thankful
Back home in the U. S., Thelma frequently speaks, publicly and privately, about God's amazing graces. Her own professional rise from a bank account reconciler to bank vice president, before becoming a speaker, host of a Christian television show, and Women of Faith regular is illustrated by the bee.

"Aerodynamically, the bumblebee is not supposed to be able to fly. Its body is too heavy. Its wing span is too shallow. But nobody told bumblebees they couldn't fly. They are doing what God intended them to do.

"Human beings have the privilege, the opportunity, the brain matter if you will, to make choices. And the choices we make everyday determine how high we fly."

It's the 1999 Employee Recognition Banquet for Zale Lipshy University Hospital in Dallas, a special night marking the tenth anniversary of the facility and the first time they've ever had an outside keynote speaker. In her lime green outfit accented with her trademark gold-and-diamond bee pin, Thelma is ready to celebrate their accomplishments.

"You can be the best of what you want to be. That's a fact,"

Thelma charges the crowd of 175 hospital workers, ranging from doctors to housekeeping staff.

"Several years ago I added something to my personal motto for Thelma: In Christ you can be the best of what you want to be." For the next twenty minutes, as she's done for twenty years on the speaking circuit, Thelma capsulizes a formula for success.

"B plus E plus E equals S. Be aware of who you are. Eliminate the negatives. Expect the best from yourself and everyone else, and you'll be Successful."

It's a motto she lives everyday, believing that God has things for her to do. Her Women of Faith girlfriends agree.

"Thelma moves through life, taking God at his word," says Luci Swindoll, "praising him in all circumstances. Thelma is pleasant under fire."

Or in tornadoes.

In 1998, Thelma and her assistant Pat Mays were in their room on the 25th floor of the Renaissance Hotel in downtown Nashville when they heard

the noise—the train-like roar of a tornado. Thelma ran to the bathroom and huddled under the sink. When the building started swaying, sirens blared and a frantic voice came over the intercom. "This is not a drill! We are having a tornado! Get to the ballroom now! Do not use the elevator!"

By the time Thelma got to the 11th floor, she could barely breathe.

"I'm not going another floor," she said to Pat. "I'm going to die right here. You go on."

"No, you gotta go."

After resting, Thelma made it to the 5th floor. A couple of men offered to carry her. "You want to carry me?" Thelma laughed. "Have you had children yet? You go on, so you can have your children. I'll get on by."

The last one to arrive in the ballroom, Thelma collapsed in a chair.

Around her, everyone was either on cell phones or trying to calm down. "I need a drink," said one guest. "I need a smoke," another said.

"I need my Bible," Thelma added.

With no Scripture in mind, Thelma opened her Bible to the fourth chapter of Mark—Jesus calming the storm on the Sea of Galilee. When she finished reading it aloud, she began to pray.

A second funnel cloud headed for Nashville changed direction.

In Franklin, Tennessee, Women of Faith speaker Sheila Walsh heard on CNN that "people were praying in the Renaissance Hotel with their hands up." The next time she saw her, Sheila said with a hug, "Thelma Wells, I knew it was you."

Thelma considers it another measure of divine grace. After all, she says, "you just can't talk about God's grace without him showing up." Wherever Thelma goes, she'll look for someone to tell about her God who has never let her down.

To contact Thelma Wells for speaking engagements, prayer concerns, or information on her books, call A Woman of God Ministries at 1-800-843-5622.

A Christian Reader original article.

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